


Intrigue

by longsufferingsigh



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Espionage, Exhibitionism, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Size Difference, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Shadow of Revan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longsufferingsigh/pseuds/longsufferingsigh
Summary: Darth Vowrawn seeks refuge with the coalition on Yavin IV to escape the Emperor’s Hand but his reputation precedes him. Theron is sent to investigate.
Relationships: Darth Marr/Darth Vowrawn
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	Intrigue

“Of course your liquor cabinet was salvageable.”

Vowrawn laughed genially. “As you can see, my priorities are perfectly lined up. Fifteen bottles a row to be precise.”

“Is it wise to distribute alcohol among the troops? We need them at peak efficiency.”

“Why not? Between the Revanites and the Massassi, their odds for survival leaves much to be desired. Let them live a little. My stock will go to waste anyhow.”

“It’s _your_ liquor cabinet.”

“Now, now. I am perfectly capable of nurturing my alcoholism without your encouragement. Besides, I can’t.” Vowrawn grimaced. “The bottles were exposed to light for at least half a day. One drop would destroy my palate.”

“My heart bleeds for you,” Marr said evenly. 

“Alas, how we do suffer... but we endure, as always.” Vowrawn gave Marr’s bicep a fond little pat, his hand lingering as he prattled off about the humidity and his misplaced luggage and oh, Marr, do you think we can spare time for a party? For the troops, of course! It’s all well and good to uphold order but motivation is— I beg your pardon? If I meant to sabotage any of your operations, I know better ways to—

Theron shook his head incredulously. He’d been discreetly tracking their (more or less) one-sided conversation through his implants for a good few hours now. Nothing worth writing in his next report. Just some banter and jokes at Marr’s expense. Impressive to be sure calling him a “sour beefcake” to his face with no repercussions. Theron would have given the old snob at least one dirty look. 

Maybe Marr already did. Hard to tell. 

Theron sensed however that there was more to Vowrawn than the glamour that floated on the surface.

Days ago, a Fury-class interceptor hurtled across the Yavin IV horizon in flames, landing deep in Massassi territory and a squadron of shock troops was immediately dispatched to investigate what remained of the crash. The airlock hatch burst like a popped cork, sailing overhead and clipping an unlucky trooper before the upper body of an elderly Sith Pureblood broke free of the ship, coughing and waving smoke from his face.

Expecting the unexpected was necessary when dealing with Force-sensitives but even they couldn’t have accounted for the likes of Darth Vowrawn.

“Capital!” Vowrawn wiped blood from his lips with a delicate pass of his fingers. “Won’t you help me with my luggage? I do believe I’ve impaled myself on a power cable or five.”

By all reports, Vowrawn was a pleasant conversationalist as he, his sole surviving apprentice, and his luggage were transported to the Coalition Staging point. Imperials confirmed his identity in a heartbeat, shocked as they were, but no one was more greatly affected than Darth Marr. He’d swept into the medical tent like a coming storm (spooking one technician under a table) and, in the long hours between surgery and sleep, kept vigil over his colleague. Even when Vowrawn, doped up on painkillers, emerged from bacta and clung to him like a slimy limpet, Marr eased him on a bed without complaint.

Between the (“Former, Theron! Former!”) Emperor’s Wrath, a champion bounty hunter, an eagle-eyed agent, and three Dark Councilors, the tenuous balance between the two factions was tipping heavily in the Empire’s favor now and even Theron couldn’t pretend that didn’t set his teeth on edge. Marr blocking Satele’s attempts to question their new guest was definitely not helping either. Necessity may have been enough to shift tactics but in matters pertaining to Vowrawn, Marr was as immovable as a temple statue. 

Enter Theron.

The Jedi Grandmaster quietly pulled Theron aside and tasked him with digging up dirt on their newest arrival, never mind that the most SIS ever gathered about him was inconclusive at best. Intel about any Dark Councilor was locked up tight but Darth Vowrawn was an altogether different beast to tackle. At least Marr’s mask was visible. Vowrawn wore too many to count. Imperials bent to Marr’s authority without question but with new focus, it became readily apparent that Vowrawn exerted his own control over Marr. Theron doubted Marr was even conscious of it. 

And here Theron thought getting a read on Lana would make this job easier.

“Whatever you’re planning, it would be most unwise.” 

Speak of the devil.

Theron stiffened and he turned to give her a frown. “Aren’t your hands already full with other diabolical schemes?”

She arched her brow, nonplussed. “I don’t need to be Force-sensitive to know what Master Satele asked of you. Our experience with the Revanites proved it necessary to measure all potential threats and Darth Vowrawn certainly merits it, yet I must reiterate: it would be most unwise.”

“Yeah?”

“You must have realized by now that all his fanfare and bravado is a performance. Trust me, I would strongly advise against invading his privacy.”

“Funny that. _Trust_. We seem to be in short supply these days.” He passed a hand over his face, giving her a pointed look as he rubbed at his bruises. 

Lana sighed. “You are going to keep beating that dead horse for as long as I live, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sith.

Theron wasn’t at all surprised that Lana stuck by even when the party made headway because surprise, surprise, Vowrawn got what he wanted. Mostly. Border patrols would be upheld. That was non-negotiable. Notable faces, high ranking officers and Force-users were especially encouraged to attend but Satele politely declined, citing Jedi business, and put forth Theron to represent the Republic in her absence. All the better to show he was definitely not a traitor so _please stop looking at me like I’d gone and rolled into bed with the Sith Emperor, thanks._

It was only late afternoon. Vowrawn would have his hands full worming his way into every tipsy reveler’s heart so the party would go on for a few hours more. Shifting, acutely aware of Lana’s presence at his side, Theron knew he had to take care of Satele’s request sooner than later. A better opportunity wasn’t going to present itself. Excusing himself, he slipped away as quietly as he could, ignoring the weight of Lana’s gaze on his back.

True to Vowrawn’s prediction, doom and gloom fled from the Imperial encampment as their inhibitions did and though the threat of Marr’s displeasure kept many of them in check, the smallest gap in the guard rotation was enough. Theron shadowed a guard strolling behind Vowrawn’s tent and, just as the guard rounded the corner, he peeled up the backside of the tent to slip under. 

The furnishings were sparse save for a footlocker, a desk, and a short stack of plasteel crates tucked close to a camp bed. Not much to work with but the audio transmitters he carried were as small as a fingernail at least. Keeping track of the time and mindful of the placement of every object he bugged, it wasn’t long until he made a complete circuit of the tent but as he fixed the last transmitter to the underside of Vowrawn’s desk, his gaze wandered to the desk’s compartments.

Theron glanced at his chrono. Twenty-two minutes left. The bugs were a good baseline but was it really enough? He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply through his nose, resolute by the time his eyes opened once more. A few finagled locks later and he rooted out a datapad, a heady sense of self-satisfaction warming his blood as he sliced past the lock and scanned its file directories for something of interest. Easy. Almost… _too_ easy. Before a healthy dose of paranoia entered his stream of consciousness, his search hit a monumental firewall when he tried to access a recent file labeled “dc_notes_17-4-16atc”. 

“Come on, _come on_ …” Theron muttered under his breath as he painstakingly sifted through string after string of dense code for something, anything, to make this whole exercise worthwhile.

Fate seemed determined to make things difficult for him, for no more than ten minutes could have passed before he heard the crunch of footsteps and a familiar bark of laughter. Heart pounding, Theron immediately returned the datapad to its original position, shifting it just so, and dived towards the back of the tent but it was too late. There was another set of footsteps outside— the guards again, _damn_ _—_ and Vowrawn drew closer to the front. Theron was cornered between the camp bed and the footlocker.

Bed.

Footlocker.

Bed.

Footlocker.

 _Bed. Footlocker. Bedfootlockerbedfootlockerbed_ _—_ _oh, kriff, he’s almost here_ _—_

Panicked, Theron stumbled towards the footlocker, tearing it open and throwing himself inside as the tent flap parted. He counted his blessings that the doors were manual though he did not dare close it entirely and risk a squealing hinge. Only then, once he’d swallowed down his heart and heard Vowrawn bustling about at his desk, did his less than optimal position finally sink in. Theron curled into a smaller and angrier ball as a thick robe nearly smothered his face. How long had he worked at SIS again? Enough to know that huddling in a closet was sufficient for toddlers and ambitious droids. He was going to be caught. He was literally going to be caught in Vowrawn’s unmentionables and, worse, Lana would have the last laugh. 

Theron steeled himself, gripping his thighs with tight fingers when Vowrawn passed the footlocker once, twice, thrice, to shift the heavy bulk of his luggage all the while humming a jaunty tune to himself. Was the old man unpacking? Seriously? Right now? In the middle of a party? Did he squirrel away party favors along with the shipment of booze or something? What was he _doing_ _—_

Vowrawn started rifling through the small drawers of the footlocker.

— besides inducing apoplexy in Republic spies?

Sooner or later, Vowrawn was going to access the main compartment and discover his special surprise and Satele would make some half-hearted attempt to defend him but ultimately wouldn’t be able to salvage PR without further alienating the Imperials. No way around it. Theron would have to take the fall for this. Hopefully he could spin a solid excuse in the spare few seconds he had as the door cracked open.

“Vowrawn. A word.”

Theron flinched, recognizing the rich timbre of Darth Marr’s voice. After a moment’s hesitation, the door was left alone and Theron let out a shuddering sigh of relief when footsteps retreated from the footlocker. Two Dark Councilors were only a thin sheet of durasteel away, and if Theron had only planted bait outside or... or done something, he could have slipped out from under the tent if they went to investigate. It might even have worked. But the promise of solid intel was too good an opportunity to pass up. And so he crouched, and waited, and listened, drawing Master Zho’s teachings from memory hoping in some small way he could shield his presence.

“Can it not wait until morning, my dear?” Vowrawn sighed. “I’ve only just begun to settle in.”

There was a cycle of heavy footfalls that Theron was all too familiar with. Marr must be pacing laps around the tent. Agitated with Vowrawn? Expected. Yet the tone of Marr’s voice seemed to have filed down to something soft, pensive even. If Theron hadn't heard him speak before he entered, he could almost believe it was someone else.

“How did you escape?” Marr asked. “The implications of your last transmission left much to be desired and I had no way of communicating with you once I was engaged with the Republic fleet over Rishi. If you were only forthright to begin with—”

“Then what? You would have swooped in to save me from the Big Bad Hand?” There was laughter in Vowrawn’s voice but it was not unkind. 

“If the Revanite conspiracy had not come to light, sending a search party into the Rishi Maze would have been my top priority.”

“I tell you, I had everything under control.”

There was a quiet click then a clatter of metal. Theron squinted through the sliver of opening. Marr stood beside the desk, his back towards the footlocker, resting a hand on an object shaped like... 

Theron’s heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be. 

“No masks between us,” Marr said, his voice soft but clear as a bell. “Not when we are alone.”

Vowrawn hesitated but eventually his smile faded and he looked up, past the shadow of Marr’s hood, and whatever he saw there must please him for no sooner than Theron could blink, Vowrawn’s hands disappeared past Marr’s hood and he pulled him down into a kiss. Marr bent to meet him halfway, gruff demeanor shedding like a second skin. 

“I suppose there were times the Hand came closer than I would have liked,” Vowrawn admitted once they parted. “When only Qet and I remained, I decided it was high time to seek refuge with someone I had confidence in my protection...”

“Thank y—”

“The Wrath, of course. Truly a formidable woman.” This was answered by a long-suffering sigh. “I _jest_. There is only one other person who I wholly entrust with my life and you need not look any further than a mirror.”

“You were never far from my thoughts,” Marr murmured. “I feared you had finally bitten off more than you could chew.”

“Me? Don’t be silly, darling. I’m far too mean to die.”

Marr huffed.

“Oh... but I’ve been mean to you, haven’t I? I’ve gone and made you worry. How much did you miss me?”

“Need you ask?”

Theron watched with rising horror as Marr was guided and pushed down onto the bed flat on his back while Vowrawn eagerly straddled his lap.

“I missed you,” Vowrawn purred. “I missed your voice, your touch, your— oh! What’s this now? I dare say there is a pea in my bed!” There was a rustle of fabric and Marr grunted softly as the bed creaked. “Oh dear, it must be the biggest pea I've ever felt. However will I sleep comfortably?”

_What?_

“Khomir please…” Shallow breaths filed down the edge in Marr’s voice, veering dangerously close to begging. “The Wrath expects to meet me soon.”

“How soon?”

The bed creaked once more. “I cannot say. She was never one for punctuality.” 

Begging? Darth Marr? Darth Marr begging? Theron bopped the side of his head with an open palm, hoping to dispel any hiccups in his implants.

“No matter. I’m sure Lord Beniko is keeping the Wrath well distracted. The only one having you tonight is me.” 

Realization struck Theron like a bolt of lightning, obliterating all thoughts of espionage from his mind. No. They couldn’t be— the two of them weren’t— oh no. Oh no. _Oh nonononononono_ _—_

The noises were impossible to ignore. 

The low rumble of Marr’s voice was easier to pretend away. Just the wind. Just the hum of an engine. Just the distant echo of a field generator. But Vowrawn? Theron had only ever heard that voice issuing orders, throwing out veiled insults and innuendo, negotiating and manipulating and teasing. The honesty of his purrs and sighs was downright unsettling.

Theron’s legs threatened to cramp and he struggled to rearrange himself as quietly as he could. Not so difficult really. Vowrawn’s moans could wake the damned. 

“We shouldn’t—”Marr’s breath caught. “There are guards—”

“And who will bother us, hm?” Vowrawn stole one last kiss before sliding off his lap and kneeling comfortably between Marr’s legs, fingers plucking at the front of his trousers. “Many of them are all busy drinking themselves silly.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“It may be their last night.”

“It _will_ be their last night if we aren’t vig — ” The wet, harsh noise of suction, mingled with Marr’s helpless groan was absolutely pornographic. Theron wanted to peel his implants out of his brain and scrub them in a soapy bath. _“Khomir_ _—_ _”_

“You fuss over every little thing,” Vowrawn said. “Let me take care of you for a change.”

“Your injuries,” Marr interjected. “I cannot do this while you are recovering. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I’m not made of glass! I’ve suffered worse and come out smelling like roses. And do not lecture me about righteousness when you are criminally overdressed.” What followed was a long string of clicks and clatters as Marr’s armor was stripped away piecemeal. There was a steady rhythm in the sound and the movements of Vowrawn’s hands as if he were simply going through the motions. He must have practiced often. Theron shuddered but his reservations were far outweighed by his curiosity. How many could say they glimpsed the man under Darth Marr’s armor and lived to tell the tale? Well, okay, that last bit was a work in progress but Theron was only _human_.

For a moment, all he could see was the contrast of crimson skin against dark skin, and dark skin against white sheets, then his brain finally caught up with his eyeballs and Theron’s nails dug into his thighs to stifle a gasp. Marr reclined on a pile of jumbled pillows, one arm crooked under his head, his elbow blocking any attempt to see his face. Vowrawn, his robes loosened, clasped one hand around the base of Marr’s cock, holding it steady as his nimble tongue and fingers toyed with it. His other hand vanished between his own legs, his hips squirming and rocking into his fingers. 

Theron nearly brained himself on a low shelf as he whipped his head the other way. He shouldn’t be seeing this. It shouldn’t be happening. And he should absolutely not be watching it. That the pair of them would do something like this in an unguarded tent was shocking enough but with other Imperials close by? Had they no shame at all? Two of the most powerful ruling Sith Lords were laying themselves bare— metaphorically and, _kriff_ , literally— and he was in the most viable position an agent could hope for. Not the safest. Not even the most dignified but this was for intel. This was for a job. This was for the Republic. Jace Malcolm’s war cry echoed in Theron’s head and he just about cried. 

The hard flesh in his mouth muffled Vowrawn’s moans but Theron could hear the need in them clearly. He won't be satisfied with just fingers. Marr seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion. “Khomir,” he murmured, “I want you.”

Vowrawn drew back with a wet pop, wiping drool from his mouth with his sleeve. “Beg pardon?”

“Please.”

Vowrawn smiled wickedly and rose to his feet. Theron could clearly see now that Vowrawn was just as aroused as Marr, and the sight made his eyebrows climb high on his forehead. It was one thing if Vowrawn only groaned and squirmed like a whore to please him but another thing entirely if his enjoyment was sincere.

Vowrawn plucked a bottle from the bedside table. At first, given the size of the bottle, Theron thought he was about to pour himself a drink. Instead, Vowrawn flicked open the cap and poured its thick, oily contents over his fingers, slicking his fist along the length of Marr’s cock until it glistened. Even as Vowrawn swung his leg over to straddle Marr’s body, Theron couldn’t tear his eyes away from that monstrous cock, incredulous at the thought that Vowrawn was going to attempt to take it inside him.

It took Vowrawn a few moments to find the right position, but soon enough his fingers grasped Marr’s cock at just the right angle, and the tip of it sank into his ass. With admirable patience, he carefully worked his way down, inch by inch, sliding down his cock until he was flush against his pelvis, his ass spread wide, crimson flesh stretched and gleaming with oil. The sight of him, impaled on a cock as thick as Theron’s own wrist, was almost unbelievable. It looked as if it should be physically impossible. How could Vowrawn enjoy it? But enjoy it he must, by the sounds he made as he took it. Each roll and sway of his hips drew a soft groan of pleasure from Marr.

Theron’s heart leapt to his mouth when Marr finally brought down his arm but Vowrawn suddenly bracketed his arms around Marr’s head in that very same moment, denying a glimpse of Marr’s face. 

“Darling…” Vowrawn sighed. “Lift me.”

An affectionate chuckle rumbled through Marr, and he ran a hand down along the length of Vowrawn’s back. “As you wish.”

Theron edged back. Too much. It was all too much. Even with his eyes closed, he could still see the image of Vowrawn bouncing on Marr’s lap like a pogo stick. The vision of them would be seared permanently into his mind. Theron had to get out of here or he’d go insane. 

Vowrawn cooed in delight as Marr carefully gathered him up in his arms, hands gripping his buttocks, and rose from the bed with a low grunt, cock somehow sinking even further into his body. Theron clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a startled squeak when the doors to the footlocker creaked partially open under the impact of their combined weight as Marr braced Vowrawn’s body against it, sighing with mingled pleasure and relief when the footlocker did not give way.

Their moans were throaty and raw, and each one was echoed by the rattling of the footlocker as it bore the force of Marr’s thrusts. Surely either Vowrawn or the footlocker would break under such an onslaught? Vowrawn slumped forward slightly and Theron wondered if the old man had finally reached his limit. It took Theron a few seconds to realize that Vowrawn had slipped his hand down to tug himself feverishly. What were they _feeding_ Sith back on Dromund Kaas?

Vowrawn buried his face into Marr’s neck, muffling his moans, but Theron could still hear them growing louder and more desperate with each thrust. His voice was rich with pleasure, ragged and unsteady and frantic. Theron’s implants picked up half-formed words between the noise and he strained to hear it, only managing to decipher an inflection of three syllables before Vowrawn finally cried out loud enough to bring down a whole platoon on his tent. 

Theron flinched and buried his face in the fold of his legs, waiting for them to collect themselves again. Fortunately, their footsteps shuffled back to the bed and it creaked as they settled in. Vowrawn murmured a string of guttural syllables which Theron’s implants helpfully translated as Old Sith endearments.

“I’ve missed you, dear,” Vowrawn said fondly. “No one feels like you do.”

Marr’s voice was soft with sleep. “Khomir…”

Vowrawn hushed him. “I know. Rest your eyes a moment, then we may return to business. I will deal with numbers while you put the fear of the empire in those pesky Revanites. Is that satisfactory?”

“Mm…”

A snicker. “What would you do without me?”

Theron sat in that footlocker for two whole hours until they finally woke and redressed. He attempted one last time to snatch a look at Marr but Vowrawn leaned against the footlocker, bumping it shut as he babbled about party clean-up, and soon their voices floated further and further away until silence fell over the tent. Theron didn’t dare move in case either of them returned for whatever reason but nothing happened and, pale, shaking, haunted, he left the same way he entered. It was vital that Theron made himself visible at the party before it ended.

He darted into the underbrush once the coast was clear, circling around to the Republic encampment, and making a point of exiting from the shadow of the planetary shuttle. As he approached the fringe of the party, he snatched a drink from a passing serving droid, dipped his fingers into the glass, and dabbed his mouth and neck with wine until the scent was hard to ignore. He “drunkenly” knocked the punchbowl on the Hero of Tython and felt like one hell of an ass when she apologized for standing too close. The Barsen’thor glowered at him as he helped her clean up the mess but at least this way Theron’s presence was noted and remembered.

Theron postponed his report to sleep off the… colorful events of the night. He lay on his camp bed staring up at the ceiling of his tent, trying his best to recollect and decipher what little strings of data he found, the order they were arranged in, the numbers in the file name, the color of _Vowrawn’s bare ass as Marr’s gigantic schlong thrust_ _—_ nope. He flung off his blanket and hurried back outside to find what remained of that cursed liquor cabinet for himself. Alcohol was an excellent disinfectant for wounds physical _and_ mental tonight. 

The following day, Theron nursed a splitting headache as he leaned back against the war table compiling his (abridged) report and keeping an audio feed open for stray Revanite transmissions. Then a shadow fell over his datapad. He looked up to see— _kriff_ _—_ Vowrawn in front of him wearing a placid smile. 

“Uh... hi?” Well, there were worse ways to greet a Dark Councilor. Probably. 

Vowrawn merely took it in stride. “Enjoy yourself last night, agent?” 

Theron allowed himself a sheepish grin. “I guess I don’t hold my liquor as well as I thought,” he said. “But I figured it was worth it for the laughs. Really energized the troops. So, uh, thanks. For the free drinks.”

“My pleasure. It seemed a shame to let my reserves go to waste. I’m glad my presence could inspire some good cheer.” Something strange entered Vowrawn's expression. “That wasn’t what I was referring to, however.”

“If you mean the after-party, I already apologized to Master Mavi—”

“I mean the other party,” Vowrawn interrupted. “Where you were an uninvited guest.”

Theron froze.

Vowrawn let out a bark of laughter. “Your _face_! Did you honestly think you could hide from me?” He wagged a finger at him. “You’d have done better to crawl out from under my tent just as soon as you finished planting your bugs but you got excited when you discovered my decoy, didn’t you? Of course you did.”

Theron’s throat tightened. _Decoy._ There was no cipher to crack, just random variables meant to give a spy the run around. And he sure as hell gave him the run of his life. “I— I can explain—”

Vowrawn tutted disapprovingly. “Imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t cloaked your presence from Marr. Now wouldn’t that have been upsetting? Another incident like this just might tilt the odds in your disfavor. We understand each other, don’t we?”

Son of a— _blackmail_? If Vowrawn caught wind of him toeing out of line, he would whisper in Marr’s ear of Theron’s stint and, while he was sure Marr wouldn’t compromise in the face of their shared enemy, the repercussions would be felt long after. It occurred to Theron that Vowrawn must have enjoyed it— getting absolutely plowed into the footlocker while he listened helplessly inside. Stupefied, Theron didn’t even react when Vowrawn patted his cheek good-naturedly and walked away, a skip in his step and the barest wiggle in his hips.

Yavin IV was truly the stuff of nightmares.

As if this day could get any worse.

“Good morning, Lord Beniko,” Vowrawn said. Theron nearly snapped his datapad in half. “I trust you slept well?”

There was a smile in Lana’s voice, hidden but there all the same. “Comfortably. And you?”

“Oh, I was kept up all night— the consequence of being an attentive host. But at my age, I’ve come to appreciate the privilege. Was I successful?”

“More than you can imagine, my lord.”

“Splendid.”

Theron didn’t dare turn around to look at their faces. He didn’t need to. They both sounded like cats that caught a whole nest of canaries. As one set of footsteps faded into the distance, another approached him from behind. For a long while neither he nor Lana said a single word. He stared down at the datapad in his hands, opening up his inbox and scrolling through old messages to give the impression of productivity but it was more for his own peace of mind than anything. They knew each other a little too well these days. 

Lana tapped away at the computer terminal before her, examining perimeter sensor readings. He waited for the inevitable and fortunately he did not have to wait long. 

“I’m not one for grandstanding,” she said, eyes never leaving the hologram. “But—”

Theron threw his datapad to the ground and covered his face. _“Don’t_ _—_ _”_

“— I told you so.”

“Really? You’re never going to let me live this down?”

Her lips curled into a sly smirk. “Absolutely not.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry, Theron.


End file.
